Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01] (16 page)

“What’s all this yelling about?” Jack bounded over the rail and wedged his way through the circle of men to Scar and No Thumb. The two pirates, one large and dark, the other scrawny and fair, glared at each other beneath lowered brows. These two had their share of squabbles, and usually Jack let them work through them without his interference.

But this time the noise from the rest of his crew was so great that he couldn’t ignore it. He’d been over the side careening when he’d first heard them. Just to make certain Miranda Chadwick wasn’t at the center of this brouhaha, he’d glanced toward shore. She was sitting innocently on her blanket, and he’d had to smile at the pretty picture she made as she bent over something near her.

But he didn’t watch her long, because the men on deck recaught his attention. What were they doing on deck anyway? Everyone had orders to be cleaning the hull so that they could get the job finished and get back to Charles Town.

Now he found the men were not only slacking off their jobs; they were nearly having a free for all.

“All right, I want to know what this is all about.” Jack shouldered between the two pirates. “Well?”

No Thumb jutted out his bristly jaw. “This good-for-nothing son of a whore says we’re gonna be sucked into the ground.”

“What?” Jack could barely believe his ears. His crew had some pretty strange ideas sometimes but this...”Scar, you know better than that.”

“Weren’t me sayin’ it. Mistress Miranda told us.”

This announcement set off a barrage of yelling, most of which was directed at Scar. The scene was so ridiculous that at first Jack could only stand and stare at his men in amazement. Then he took a deep breath. “God’s blood, would you be quiet! All of you.”

Mouths clamped shut, and all eyes turned toward Jack. He met their stares, then let out his breath. “Now, Phin, tell me what this is about,” he asked his quartermaster when he thought things had calmed a bit.

“Ain’t sure, Cap’n. Scar here says Mistress Miranda said we was goin’ to be sucked down.”

“I already heard that part of it. When did she say this?” Jack’s fist clenched. So help him if he found out she’d gone behind his back and told this rubbish to his men he’d... Lord help him, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“That’s just it, Cap’n. She ain’t never said no such thing. She talked to us ‘bout gravity.” Phin paused to make certain everybody noticed his use of the scientific word. “But that was the day she climbed the... well, ye know what she climbed.”

He did indeed. That moment he’d looked up to see her hanging on the shrouds was etched forever in his mind.

“And she hasn’t been spouting this nonsense since then?”

“Hell no, Cap’n. None of us done more’n seen her. Which to my thinkin’ is the problem.”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about?” His crew listening to her had caused all this mayhem.

“If n she could explain stuff to us, maybe Scar wouldn’t be so all fired mixed up.”

“I ain’t mixed up. She said—”

“Quiet!” Jack’s hands rested on his hips. “Let me get this straight. You all want to hear what this... woman has to say. Even though she talks about maggots and being sucked into the ground?”

“She didn’t say nothing ‘bout being sucked in. And, aye. We do want to hear what she has to say ‘bout stuff.”

There was a general mumbling of agreement that even Scar joined. Jack could only shake his head. What in the hell had come over his crew? God’s blood, they were pirates, not green schoolboys. But if they wanted to listen, Jack didn’t see what he could do about it. He sure didn’t want Miranda Chadwick to cause a mutiny on the
Sea Hawk
by not talking.

“All right, men. I’ll allow her to come on deck and talk to you again. But you still have to do your work.” Their nods and smiles were almost humorous. “I’m going to fetch her and see what she has to say about this agreement.”

“Where is her ladyship, Cap’n?”

“She’s right over—” Jack turned to point to the shore, and his jaw dropped open. There on the beach was the blanket, a straw hat... and nothing else.

“God blood!” Running to the side, Jack vaulted over the rail and dove into the creek.

There was a path.

As soon as Miranda cleared the first tangle of underbrush, she found it: a footpath leading farther into the woods. By this time she had lost track of the lizard, but was sure there was much more to see.

Blocked from the sea breeze by the veil of leaves, the air hung heavy and thick. Insects droned about, dancing slowly among the beards of Spanish moss drooping from the trees.

Miranda stood in the middle of the trail and gazed about her. Slivers of sun filtered through the pine needles. This was so different from the forests in England. Everything... the flora, the insects, the birds squawking in the branches begged to be investigated.

Gnawing on her thumbnail, Miranda looked back where she’d pushed through the bushes, then forward along the path. She wasn’t foolish enough to explore where she could get lost. When she followed the lizard, she’d broken off twigs so that she could find her way back to the beach. But now she didn’t even have to do that. There was a path... obviously well used. All she had to do was stay close to it and she wouldn’t lose her way.

She thought of Captain Blackstone, and indecision seized her. What if he noticed she was gone? But he probably knew about the path and would figure she just went for a stroll. She wasn’t going to be long. And she probably would never get another chance like this. Her father was much more protective of her than Grandfather had been. Papa didn’t allow her the freedom to simply explore.

Miranda started along the sandy footway. Besides, it wasn’t as if she owed the pirate captain anything. He did kidnap her, for heaven’s sake. And it wasn’t like she was trying to escape. She’d come back.

In the meantime she could collect all sorts of wonderful samples. Miranda pinched some leaves off a vine tangling up around a live oak trunk. For lack of her sample pouch, she gathered up her skirt in front, forming a sack where she deposited her finds. She only wished she’d thought to bring her parchment so that she could record her findings. Instead, Miranda spoke softly to herself, describing the texture of the tree trunks and the knobby way the roots stuck out of the soil, trying to store these facts in her memory.

All the while, Miranda kept to the trail and estimated how far she’d come. She was beginning to feel uneasy about the time she’d been away. Pirate or no, she didn’t like to worry Captain Blackstone. Besides, she’d been on the receiving end of his temper, though she had to admit she could find no fault with the way he’d expressed his anger the last time. Yet, she supposed she couldn’t count on being kissed whenever he was upset with her.

With a sigh she crouched down to pick her last specimen, a crimson wildflower, before turning back. She twisted to put the blossom in her skirt.

And saw the feet.

They were large, a coppery brown, and as she allowed her gaze to rise she found them connected to sturdy bare legs. Her eyes flew upward, and she gasped, falling back on her bottom and nearly spilling all her plants.

The man was tall, almost as tall as the captain, and he wore almost nothing on his body— nothing, that is, except the drawings that decorated his chest and face. He said something in a low guttural language that Miranda didn’t understand, then crossed his arms as if waiting for her to respond.

“I don’t understand,” she said in English, then French, then Spanish. The man’s dark brows rose when she said the last, but other than that he gave no sign that he comprehended what she said. He just continued to stare at her from eyes as dark as midnight. And Miranda wished she’d stayed on board the
Sea Hawk
.

“Who are you?” Miranda finally asked. His response could have been a name, or it could have been anything else, Miranda had never come up against a language quite like this one.

The man was an Indian; she was sure of it. She’d read accounts of Indians and had even seen a volume of
The Drawings of John White
in which he’d sketched Indians—who looked amazingly like this one. If only she could communicate with him, perhaps they could—

He grabbed her so quickly that Miranda didn’t have time to do more than let out a squeal of protest... that is, till she noticed her collected specimens floating to the ground. Then she turned to let the Indian have it, but he clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the underbrush.

Suddenly the loss of her collection seemed unimportant. She was going to be killed by this Indian. She tried to fight him, but his arms lashed around her and his hand tightened over her mouth. Miranda blinked at him over his hand, and he nodded his head in the direction of the path.

Miranda could swear he was trying to tell her something. But what?

He hunched over behind the bushes and pulled Miranda down beside him. Thorns tore into her bodice, and tears welled in her eyes. Oh, God. First captured by a pirate, now an Indian. She waited for him to do something, but he had become still, his dark head cocked to one side as if listening.

Miranda concentrated, and she could hear something, too. Someone was running, pounding down the path toward them. Hope sprang to her breast. Could it be Captain Blackstone? But if it was, would the Indian kill him? The footfalls came nearer, louder, and Miranda’s heart seemed to pound with the rhythm.

And then they were passing, going beyond where she and the Indian hid. She couldn’t even see if it
was
Captain Blackstone. Maybe it was another Indian. She was sure it was when her Indian stood, dragging her up behind him, and called out a greeting.

The footsteps stopped, but Miranda didn’t want to see any more Indians. She shut her eyes and prayed her captors would give her a quick death.

“God’s blood!”

That voice. Those words. Miranda’s eyes snapped open. But if she was hoping to see a welcome sight, she was to be disappointed. The pirate captain scowled at her as ominously as the Indian had. Still, she sagged against her captor in relief.

The Indian spoke again in his guttural language, and to Miranda’s amazement, Captain Blackstone answered him in kind. When the Indian loosened the hand over her mouth, Miranda’s jaw dropped open. They acted as if they knew each other.

The Indian spoke again, and the captain crossed his arms and nodded, albeit reluctantly. He said something that made the Indian laugh and release Miranda. Her feet hit the sandy soil, and her knees buckled. And the captain did nothing. Miranda was forced to grab hold of the Indian’s arm for support.

Both the pirate and the Indian seemed to find this amusing. Miranda locked her knees and jerked away, but she stopped short of rushing to the captain’s side. Besides, he was now in what appeared to be a serious discussion with the Indian. And it was extremely frustrating not to understand what they were saying.

Miranda tried to pick out a word here or there but couldn’t. She thought the captain might turn to her and explain whatever negotiations were going on, but he ignored her completely, as did the Indian. She finally decided they weren’t discussing her.

Were they getting ready for some horrible form of combat between them? Miranda watched the pirate’s face. Though he was definitely in a rage, and growing angrier with every second, his hostility didn’t appear to be directed toward the Indian.

Now that she thought of it, neither man had drawn a weapon. Of course, it didn’t appear the pirate had one. He wore only wet breeches that clung to his lower body like a second skin. The Indian wore even less, but she did notice a knife handle sticking from a leather case lashed to his waist.

Miranda inched away from the Indian, thinking she was moving unnoticed until the pirate speared her with his stormy green gaze. She stilled. Apparently Captain Blackstone was more aware of her than she thought. That knowledge was strangely reassuring... even if he was angry with her

Their discourse continued, punctuated by hand movements, until suddenly the Indian turned and began loping down the footpath away from the creek. Miranda watched wide-eyed as he disappeared around a bend into the forest. Then she twisted her head to look at Captain Blackstone. He, too, was gazing after the Indian, an inscrutable expression on his handsome face.

Seeing her chance, Miranda sank down to her knees and began recollecting the specimens she’d lost when the Indian grabbed her.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The question was so abrupt and loud that Miranda dropped the flora again, only barely suppressing a scream. She looked up to find the captain looming over her, his hands clasped at his lean waist.

“Well?” He glared down at her, obviously expecting an answer.

“I... I was... well, you see I’d collected some leaves and flowers and I dropped them, so—”

“Leaves and flowers. Is that what you were doing out here? Picking leaves and flowers?”

His voice rose with every word. Miranda simply swallowed and nodded.

“God’s blood!” He threw his hands into the air as if beseeching a higher power to explain such behavior to him. “You take a chance on being taken by Indians, not to mention scare me near to death, all for a few leaves and flowers.” Jack dropped his arms and paced a few feet down the footpath. Pivoting, he pointed his finger at her. “You are insane.”